Nothing, Something, Anything, Everything
by Kari-Kateora
Summary: After the incident with the Frog, Jen finds her life locked in a downward spiral. What does she have left in life? Is it worth all the hate and fighting with those she loves most? If she breaks, will there be anyone to help pick up the pieces?
1. Nothing

This little thing came rushing out last night when I was in a dull mood and it was way past midnight. it's a little dark, but I've quite a bit written. Sorry if you lot find it too... depressing. It eventually gets better. I think 3

Dedicated to rikkucheerio for being an amazing writer and Liz for being an awesome beta.

Disclaimer: Do not own and / or profit from.

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><p><strong>Nothing<strong>

Jennifer Shepard felt as if she had nothing. Nothing existed in her life to give her warmth, love, affection. The closest thing she had to a friend was her secretary and housekeeper, who didn't count because they worked for her. Once, she had counted Gibbs and the team as her friends, but she doubted they even wanted to know her after what had happened with the Frog.

She didn't blame them.

Now,all she had left was a bottle of Bourbon and her job. Her job. She wasn't so sure it was worth it anymore. She'd given up any chance at personal happiness to reach the point she was now; first female director of an armed federal agency. She would have made her father proud of her. She had followed her five-point plan to the letter and it had gotten her the chair she coveted. Mission: successful. Result: she was now doubting every single part of it.

A knock on her door drew her out of her reverie. "Come in." she called in a calm voice, taking her reading glasses off. She'd not really been concentrating on the case files in front of her. Anyone who saw the glass of Bourbon by her elbow would have guessed as much.

"Director," Cynthia said, poking her head through the door. "Senator Marley is here to see you." she informed her. Jenny let out a deep sigh, then prepared herself for what Gibbs had aptly called 'ass-kissing'.

She really did wonder if it was worth it all.

* * *

><p>"You done playing politics, Director?"<p>

She really wasn't surprised anymore. Once, she would have been irritated at the way he disregarded the existence of both her secretary and her office door. However, she'd gotten used to his rudeness. What she could never get used to was the way he now looked at her; his eyes were cold and distant. He never called her by her name anymore, only when trying to drive a point home. She suspected he secretly liked it, using her own feelings against her. At this point, she was too tired to keep fighting.

"Can I do something for you,Jethro?" she asked, sighing and not looking up at him. She really wasn't in the mood to fight with him. What she really wanted, if she'd allow herself to admit it, was for him to stop hating her so much and forgive her. She'd never entertain the childish notion of him ever loving her again. The incident with the Frog had driven them too far apart already. Using his name was a sort of white flag. She just hoped he wouldn't shoot it down.

"You can tell me why my team was pulled off active duty, Director." Gibbs replied, walking up to her desk and placing both hands on it so that he could loom over her. Reflexively, Jen leaned back against her chair so that she could meet his eyes. She kept the pain and misery out of her irises when she saw the clearly hostile expression on Gibbs' face. Inwardly, she groaned and wished he could just drop it, if only for a moment. Maybe pretend that they could still actually get along.

"Your last case was a very heavy case, Agent Gibbs." Jen explained wearily, looking up at him. His blue eyes were so hard! "The psych evaluation you took afterwards suggested you stay off active duty for a few days. I'm compelled to obey the shrink." she said in an een voice, already bracing her fragile self. She knew this would escalate into a fight.

It almost always did nowadays.

"And you'd have us sitting on our ass while people die?" Gibbs demanded in a loud voice, slamming one palm down on her desk. "Last time we weren't on duty, Paula's team got killed!" he exclaimed in his marine voice, obviously trying to intimidate her. Jenny knew that trick.

She knew all of them.

Right then, however, she had had enough. Something snapped in her as Gibbs glared at her. She knew she deserved it, but she had had enough.

"Agent Gibbs!" she bit back, rising to her feet and shooting him one of her finest deathglares. "I do not care what you want or what you demand of me. This is _my _Agency and I shall pull you off duty if I so wish! You might like to bend the rules, but you will _not_ get your way this time! Return to your desk and catch up on your paperwork, or I _will_have you suspended!" she hissed, tired, angry and just plain miserable. They weren't supposed to be like this.

"That right, Di-rec-tor?" he drawled sarcastically, their faces mere inches apart as they stared each other down. He would wait her out. He would win, beating her at her own game.

"Get out of my office, Agent Gibbs." Jen said in a suddenly low, dangerous tone. Her green eyes were hard as stone, and about as warm. She held his gaze for only a few more seconds before sitting down and reaching for her glasses. Inwardly, he smirked triumphantly; he'd conquered her. That was only her way of stopping a confrontation. Smugly, he turned and walked towards the door.

"If it remains your office for much longer." he threw at her, closing the door behind him with a satisfying bam, just to add insult to injury.

When he was gone, Jen put her head in her hands, shaking slightly. "I can't keep doing this..." she told herself softly. Her voice broke and, if Gibbs had waited outside long enough, he wold have hard her starting to cry.


	2. Something

_Wow. Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I'm glad you all liked it so much. I'm not quite sure how to update this fic, since I wrote all three first chapters at once and I don't want to spoil you guys. XD Still._

_Oh fine. I'll spoil you lot. You kinda deserve it._

_Disclaimer: see first chapter._

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><p><strong>Something<strong>

It was easy for Gibbs to see that something was off with Jenny. He had avoided her ever since their argument in her office the previous day, hoping to postpone another fight for as long as he could. Deep inside, he was just as miserable as he supposed she must feel. Was that what it had come to? An endless fight over who was on top? Sometimes, he only wanted to make peace, but she'd act so arrogant and superior that he'd found himself fighting back. And sometimes, he thought she was tired, but found himself endlessly attacking her. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Yesterday, he knew that she had a point, but still attacked her for it. Next time, it could be the other way around.

He didn't know how much longer he could do this.

"Boss? I'm all finished with my reports, and I've de-fragged all of our computers." he heard McGee intruding into his thoughts.

"So, McBrownie? Waiting for a pat on the head and a Scooby snack?" Tony cut in, leaned back in is chair. It was obvious that his entire team was taking a little badly to their suspension from working active cases. They had had a report come in of a dead sailor, but the case had been handed to another investigation squad. Tony might complain, but he wanted to work on that case just as much as the rest of his team did. They didn't take this job to sit on their asses and fill in paperwork.

"Will you give it a rest already, Tony?" McGee cut in, more irritable than usual. "Unlike some people, I actually got my work done. Which might mean I can go home for the day."

"To what, McLonely? Video games and typing?"

The situation was about to escalate when Jenny walked down the stairs, glaring at the team."Agent Gibbs," she said in a cutting voice, interrupting any argument that was about to break out. All heads turned to her, then Gibbs to gauge the reaction. "Is control over your subordinates too much to ask for?" the Director remarked sarcastically, her perfectly plucked eyebrows raised mockingly.

Gibbs was silent for a moment, regarding her coolly. It didn't escape his notice how she looked paler and exhausted. She might have been trying to instigate an argument, but he could plainly see her heart wasn't in it. Once upon a time, he would have cared. He would have ignored her barb and walked up to her to try and figure out what was bothering her. Now, she wasn't his concern - at least that's what he told himself.

"They're officially your agents, if I remember correctly, Director." he replied in a covert jibe. He expected Jen to bristle and chew him out. He was hoping she would cut the director-agent crap and really let it rip. Maybe get everything off her chest and yell and scream. They would have a proper argument, once and for all. One between equals, not the squabbles they were having now, where she tried to win just by being on top. That wasn't how they fought, and he knew it. Jen probably knew it too. But, just as she stiffened, he knew it wasn't going to happen. The Director would never lose control, much less in such a public place. It would jeopardize her position, he thought bitterly.

However, Jen didn't fail to surprise him. Instead of putting him in his place with a well-earned retort, like she'd been doing for weeks, the redhead sighed wearily and just headed up the stairs to her office. She didn't even attempt to fight him, fact which almost worried him. The rest of the team was oblivious but, as he didn't fail to remind himself, the rest of the team didn't now Jenny like he did.

He knew Jenny _all _too well.

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><p>The next few days served to solidify Gibbs' suspicions: Jen was acting strangely. Whenever he acted out of line or caused her grief, like pissing off a n FBI agent that came to the bullpen, she only asked he not do it again in a weary tone. When he undermined her authority or threw digs at her, she didn't rie to the bait, but instead sighed heavily. She looked even more tired than she'd looked on Tuesday; judging by the shadows under her eyes, he doubted she'd been getting much sleep. Or food, if the pallor of her cheeks was anything to go by. Cynthia didn't say a word to him, but he knew she was also worried by the looks she gave him when he went into her office. Something was wrong, yet he was fighting with his gut. A small part of him told him to not care, to just continue about his day. After all they weren't involved. Far from it, in fact. At the moment, they just weren't; not a team, not partners, not friends, not anything. The rest of him, however, and that was a dominant part, told hi that he wasn't that kind of a cold bastard yet.<p>

'Yet' being the key word.

What had also begun to worry him, though he'd not yet admit to caring, were the empty glasses he kept finding by her side in her office. He knew those small, heavy glasses well; they were the kind she always favored for drinking Bourbon. He'd seen the bottle on the table at the far end of the office. It had been full only four days ago, a gift from that Senator fellow that had visited her to talk politics. Now it was almost empty, and he could swear he saw a new bottle still in its bag on the floor next to the little table. He'd actually caught her drinking several times in the early morning, even, knocking back the rosy liquid like it was her new brand of coffee. He hadn't seen her drunk in the office, yet, but he could only imagine what she got up to in her study at home – if she did go home, that is. He was sure he'd soon catch her drunk during work hours.

He didn't know how he would deal with that.

All he knew was that something was up, and his gut was beginning to act up intensely.

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><p>"Are your reports done?"<p>

Some would call her question overbearing and snooty; she would call it masochistic. After all, what other than anger and pain would she feel when she joined Jethro's team down in the bullpen, especially after recent events? She could practically feel the hostility in the air. Tony was looking at her coolly, almost like Gibbs, in fact. Still, he had a right to hate her, and she would accept every shred of resentment he threw her way. Ziva might have once been on her side, but almost losing Tony had created a chasm between the two old partners. McGee wouldn't pick sides and Jethro... Jethro would look at her with anger and hurt; two emotions she hated on him, espcially when she was the cause.

She deserved every blow she got.

"Why yes, Director! Funny you should ask. It might have _something_to do with the fact that we've been doing nothing for the past three days!" Tony remarked sarcastically, eyes wide in mock-innocence. Jen's shoulders stiffened for a moment, then relaxed; she really didn't have the heart to fight anymore. Not when she knew she was personally responsible for all the anger directed right at her. She'd failed them all.

"I expect them on my desk, then." Jen replied defeatedly, turning quickly to hurry up to her sanctuary. Funny that; her sanctuary wouldn't protect her against her most violent assailant.

Gibbs watched her go, frowning as he stared her in the back. He didn't like that look in her eyes when Tony cheeked her. Not at all. As they heard the door to her office close, his gut twinged again. It was Friday night and they were the only ones still on the floor.

"McGee, David, DiNozzo, time to go home." he told his three agents, gaze pinned towards the director's office.

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><p>Jen wiped her moist eyes with a paper tissue, balling it up into the trash can at her side. As much as she deserved to feel this pain, she still didn't feel it cleansing her. Somehow, she'd thought that letting them hit her repeatedly would make them all feel better. She'd share their pain, and they'd get their revenge. But no one seemed to feel any better for it.<p>

She really couldn't do anything right.

But she'd been wrong. She did have something left in her life. She had her Bourbon, which never judged and never forgave. Sometimes, it took away the pain. Sometimes, it only increased it. Now, as she downed her glass – God only knew what number she was on since morning – she resented it. She resented everything. It, for giving her refuge. Gibbs for indoctrinating her into the art of drinking it. Gibbs for hurting her. _Herself_for hurting her. Still, at this point, it was one of the few things she had left on her side.

She got up to refill her glass, slightly unsteady on her feet. If she fell, the Lord only knew who would find her and when. Cynthia had left a while ago. Perhaps her security detail would come looking for her when it got later and she didn't call to tell them she was leaving. Perhaps they wouldn't. In her state of mind, she doubted they even cared, as long as she didn't die whilest in their protection.

Once she was in her chair again, drinking the alcohol like water, she opened her drawer and took out her personal weapon. Tenderly almost, she ran her fingers down the barrel and stared at the weapon. Like the Bourbon, it was something that wouldn't judge her.

Bourbon and a gun – it wasn't much, but it was _something._Desperately, she clung to that something.

Carefully, she raised the gun and stared down the barrel, thinking of how her father must have felt when he had been killed. Did every person who was shot have time to contemplate their own death? What about those who committed suicide? Did they ever stare down the barrel, thinking of their fathers and how Bourbon looked a little like cranberry juice, if you squinted your eyes and tried to see it, really, really hard?

As those thoughts chased each other around and around in her head, she didn't hear the door to her office opening quietly. She did hear the voice that called out to her softly, in a tone so tender and frightened that it caught her attention.

"Jen. Jenny. Put down the gun. Please."


	3. Anything

_Thanks for the reviews, guys. ^_^ They really mean a lot. Especially since this story was very, very fun to write. I literally wrote up to here in twelve hours. You'll hopefully not have to wait too long for the last chapter._

_Also, jstapny, you won the Jenny sweepstakes. XD_

_Disclaimer: see first chapter._

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><p><strong>Anything<strong>

"Jen. Jenny. Put the gun down. Please."

Jethro's words were soft and fearful, but they barely registered in her clouded mind. She let his pleas fly over her head harmlessly, looking down into the hole the bullet would come out of if she pulled the trigger. Her finger rested against it idly as she thought about her father. Yes, that's what she would think about. She wasn't aware of how Jethro was lingering at the door, wondering how to deal with this situation. In reality, he'd dealt with suicidal people before, but never his Jenny.

"Jen, I'm going to take a few steps closer." he told her warily. When she didn't react, just stared at the gun in her hands, he approached her cautiously. He knew that startling her wasn't an option; she might pull the trigger by accident or, worse, feel cornered and try to escape him by shooting herself. He had to establish communication with her; she seemed out of it. The expression on her face didn't spell terror or fear, just rapt attention, the likes a small child would give an object he was first introduced to. However, Jethro knew how well-acquainted she was with the weapon. _He_almost knew it just as well as she did; it was the weapon she had held in Paris and, on the mission, he'd had to fire it several times for her.

He knew she kept it loaded.

As he approached her desk slowly, he noticed the half-empty glass of Bourbon by her side. Slowly, the pieces started to fall in place. She was drunk, he decided, which would explain the fluster in her cheeks.

Deep inside, he felt guilt tugging at his insides, threatening to tear him apart. This was _his_fault. If he hadn't been so cruel to her, if he had tried to check on her yesterday or the day before, it wouldn't have come to this. He should have tried harder to make peace with her instead of pushing her this far. When he looked at the gun in her hands, he knew that he had driven her to it. If she pulled the trigger, he would blame himself. Not for long, however. No. It wouldn't take long for him to follow her.

"Jen." he called again softly. "Jenny, can you hear my voice? It's Jethro. Jenny, I need you to look at me. Can you do that, Jen?" When she didn't respond, he inched closer. Another foot and he would be standing in front of her desk. She didn't seem to mind him approaching. Now that he could see better into her lap, he realized that she was only holding the gun loosely, staring at it, transfixed. It dawned on him then, that she wasn't actually contemplating shooting herself – at least, not consciously. The faraway look in her eyes told him that her mind was drifting in memories, flashbacks, perhaps. She might have been thinking about her father, who had supposedly taken his own life. Whatever the case, he had to snap her out of it and get her back to reality.

Before there was an accident.

Beginning to inch sideways around her desk, Gibbs tried a different route. "Director of NCIS," he said softly, trying to keep his tone light. His blue eyes were still filled with fear and worry, but he had to maintain his calm. "Do you think your father, Jasper Shepard, would have been proud, Jen?" he asked her softly. The small flicker in her eyes encouraged hi to continue, both talking to her and creeping closer. Only another two feet and he'd be able to touch her hand. "I think he would have been if he weren't murdered." he was sure her jaw clenched. "Would he have greeted you with a surprise party when you returned from Europe, promoted, d'ya think?" he asked, just trying to keep the little attention she'd given him.

"No. I don't think so."

The words were just a murmur, said almost unconsciously, but Jethro's heart picked up at the sound of them. They were proof he was getting through to her. Carefully, he began to lower himself so that he would be crouched closer to her height.

"What do you think he would have done?" he asked instead, inching closer.

"Nothing, probably. Just a proud smile." Jen answered him, her voice clearer and closer this time."Dad was never one for exuberance. Like you, Jethro."

Gibbs took it as encouragement that she said his name. They were starting to communicate fully now and, already, he could tell he was beginning to draw her out of it. Her grip on the gun had strengthened, but in the way a conscious person would hold something. Though it put her in greater danger, Jethro took it as an encouraging sign.

"Yes, he does sound like me. Especially in Paris. Do you remember Paris, Jen?" he asked her softly "That night you looked crestfallen when I wasn't over the mood for the "surprise" night at the Opera. Do you remember it?"

"Of course I remember Paris." she said softly, still gazing down at the gun in her hands. As Gibbs lowered himself to his knees by her side, he saw the tears that had begun to trickle down her cheeks, silent, yet speaking volumes. He saw the hurt written clearly in her eyes, and his heart bled, for he knew that he was part of the cause. He had never wanted to hurt her. Not like this, at least. If he were to be honest, he'd admit that he'd been punishing her the past few weeks punishing both of them. Never again, he decided.

"Jen?" he asked tentatively, his hand going gently to rest on her wrist, his thumb brushing the joint of her thumb softly. "You have to listen to me." he told her soothingly, looking up into her face. "Let go of the gun and we can talk about Paris, or anything else you want to talk about. Let me take the gun." he begged her in a low, coaxing voice. It broke his heart to see those silent tears of pain, but he had to prioritize. First the gun, then her feelings.

"What's there left to talk about?" she asked softly. Her grip on the gun tightened and Jethro's heart almost stopped beating in fear, but she didn't pull the trigger. "You hate me. You all do." Her voice was grounded now. She knew where she was and what she was saying, a fact that saddened him incredibly. Because, judging by the past few weeks, they really had been acting like that.

"No, Jen. We don't. _I_don't. I could never hate you. I've just been... angry. Not just at you, but at myself. I've been really angry at myself, because I let you fight your past on your own. I shoulda been there, Jen. I shoulda had your six. I'm sorry I've been taking it out on you." he pleaded with her. His words were quite true, he knew. He was leaving out some parts that might have been unpleasant; she didn't need to hear those then. She needed to hear the missing pieces to the puzzle that he'd only figured out when he saw her pointing a gun at her head.

"We were fighting all the time..." she said, the tears starting to intensify. Gibbs knew she was close to her breaking point. He could tell by the erratic rhythm her breathing was beginning to acquire.

"Jen, Jenny, listen to me." he said earnestly, his hand squeezing her wrist lightly. He brought the other one up to hold her hands in his, the gun cradled in between them. Her small hands felt cold and clammy to his touch, clenched and shaking slightly. "We can work past that. We can work it out. But I need you to let go of the gun. Please, Jen. Do it for me."

There was a small pause before her hands pulled out of his, surrendering the gun to him while her arms wrapped around his neck. She buried her face against his shoulder, crying loudly. Her shoulders began to shake violently as she clung to him, twisted in her office chair, as if he were the last lifeline she was being afforded.

Carefully, Gibbs removed the clip from the gun and placed the two objects on the floor beside him, then wrapped Jenny in a proper, tight hug, whispering soothing words into her ear.

"What was I doing?" he made out amidst her tears, and he knew that his Jen was back, and that the tears were those of fear, of pain, and of sudden, unexpected and long-awaited release.

With her arms around him, Jen didn't need _anything_ more at that moment. _Anything._


	4. Everything

Whew. Sorry this one took so long, guys! SiD will be updated as soon as Liz has some free time and breathing space. I hope this part wraps the series up sufficiently for the lot of you. I know I'm happy with the ending. Somewhat.

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

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><p><strong>Everything<strong>

"Here you go."

"Thank you, Jethro." Jenny replied, her head bowed so that she could stare into the steam rising up out of the cup of tea Gibbs had just handed her. She was sitting on the sofa in her office, her heels thrown in some corner so that she could sit cross-legged on the cushions. A blanket was wrapped around her shoulders,keeping the chill away. Her make-up was long gone; crying ceaselessly tended to do that to powder and rouge.

Gibbs sat down opposite her, watching her with a small frown, eyebrows furrowed together. She might have stopped crying, but the stream of tears had left her eyes red and swollen. A look that didn't really go with the dark shadows under her eyes. The ex-marine took in the hunch of her shoulders, the pathetic look in her eyes and knew that, even if she hadn't been trying to kill herself, this was a woman at her breaking point.

"Jen..." he began softly, but she cut him off.

"What, Jethro?" she demanded angrily, raising her head to glare at him. Gibbs wasn't fazed by her sudden defensiveness; he'd gotten used to it over the years. After all, he _did_know her all too well. "What do you want me to say? 'Why didn't you come tome, Jen?'? 'You should have opened up, Jen.'? Because that's bull, and you know it! If you hadn't been such an asshole – all of you – then I would have been obliviously pointing a gun at my head!" She had gone straight from anger to accusations, the color rising in her cheeks. Gibbs bit his lip nervously. The way she was going, she might shout herself into unconsciousness.

She really didn't know how to pace herself.

"Calm down, Jen-" he began.

"Don't you tell me to calm down!" she countered, now even more upset. Ethro pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a long, deep breath to calm down and get the words he wanted to say in the right order.

"I'm sorry, jenny." he said quietly, looking down at his hands. Those words, more than anything else, stopped her from biting his head off.. Instead, guilt and a deep-rooted sorrow filled her. They weren't supposed to be like that. They were good together, not this tangled mess. She'd never expected him to apologize. In fact, she hadn't even been sure he remembered those three little words existed. Now that he'd said them, however, she couldn't continue treating him like an ass. No matter how much he deserved it.

"Jethro..."

"No, Jen!" he burst out, raising bright, blue eyes to her own. "You might have screwed up, but we were partners! Friends! I had no right to act like such a smug jackass like I did. The others might have some excuse, but I don't. I know you. I should have been able to trust you more. But try to understand. You were so obsessed with the Frog that I... I thought you'd lost it."

His explanation didn't make Jen feel any better. If anything, her grip tightened around her teacup and she bowed her head. She really had messed things up for all of them. Even if she accused him of hating her, she was still the root problem. It was her obsession, her stubbornness that had gotten them all into this situation and, now, she had no idea how to get out of it.

"It's my fault." she said softly. "You did nothing wrong, Jethro. You wanted to protect your agent. You wanted to follow a leader that didn't seem completely insane. I... I've been out of line for a while now, and look where it got me. You all hate me. No wonder." she sighed, fighting back the tears.

"No, Jen, that's not true..." he tried to protest. There was something in her demeanor that scared him now. It wasn't out of control or maniacal. That might have been better. What frightened him was the utter calm in her disposition, the way she seemed to have completely accepted the truth of her words. He knew she had been blaming herself, but not to this extent. He had to fix it – and fast. If she'd been dangerous before, now she was potentially destructive now. "I should have tried harder to get through to you. To support and not try to oppose you." he tried desperately, clutching at the tiniest straws that still remained.

Jen sighed softly, setting her cup down. Gently, she shrugged off the blanket that surrounded her thin frame and got to her bare feet,padding towards the desk. There, she stooped and picked up the elements to her gun, snapping them together and setting the weapon on her desk. "You should go now, Jethro." she said softly, sitting down at her chair and resting her head back. She looked so tired, so worn-down that Gibbs' heart threatened to crack just looking at her. Quietly, he got to his feet and went to stand behind her chair, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"No, Jen," he said in a quiet, yet resolute voice. "I'm not going anywhere."

**The End**


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